


Dreams of Black and White (and Red)

by twowittoowhoo



Category: Athletics RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, Night Circus AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowittoowhoo/pseuds/twowittoowhoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renaud's secret life as a rêveur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams of Black and White (and Red)

Renaud is eight, the first time he sees the Night Circus.

 

In fact, he’s seven, but his birthday is the next day and his mother agrees to take him to the circus as his birthday gift. He walks amongst the tents, flanked by his parents, his brother burbling nonsense in the pram being wheeled by his mother.

 

His parents seem a bit tentative when they first go in, the lack of colour, any colour giving them pause, but Renaud’s enthusiasm at the sparkling light carries them in and their own magic and wonderful keeps them there, as much as their son’s reaction. The black and white doesn’t phase him, more focused on the lights and excitement of exploring as many tents as he can. 

 

They don’t stay long, can’t stay long, even though Valentin is sleeping peacefully by the time they leave, but Renaud is fascinated by Le Cirque des Rêves, his disappoint so evident that his father promises a return visit the next time the circus comes.

 

-

 

The circus doesn’t come back, but Renaud spots the striped tents from the minibus taking him and other club members to a competition and manages to sneak out that night with some of the other juniors,  the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, throat burning from the bottle that’s passed around.

 

He loses them, in between the jugglers and the various vendors, chasing the stringent alcohol taste out of his mouth with snow-white cotton floss that melts on his tongue, sweet honey on his tastebuds.

 

Wandering through the circus, Renaud remembers, visiting those tents he saw as a child, still as amazed by the tricks and shows as the first time he saw them. He then visits every unexplored tent methodically, winding his way through, until he ends up at the Ice Garden.

 

It’s not empty and at first he’s tempted to leave, the crowd inside seeming so far out of his world, a mix of black and white which makes him think he’s stumbled onto a party of employees, but the flashes of red are unexpected and draw him in.

 

By the time he reaches the centre of the garden, they’ve dispersed, except for one girl, in a stunning pin-striped dress with blood red lipstick that matches the roses in her dark hair. She’s struggling with the zip of her boot, breath freezing in the frigid air, eyelashes like carefully calligraphed black ink lines against the paleness of his cheek with her gaze turned downwards.

 

“Excuse me?” She doesn’t startle, turning to look at Renaud, a flare of burning colour in a sea of ice. She doesn’t say anything, but makes room for him on the clear bench, a pure white fur throw covering the ice. “Do you work here?”

 

Her laugh echoes through the garden and more than the smudges of lipstick and the memory of her perfume that lingers in his memory, the knowledge of the rêveurs is what sticks with him, imprints itself on him.

 

-

 

He’s dressing to impress that night, it’s not as showy as many outfits he’s seen, but he does what he can. The white shirt is carefully ironed, the black trousers pressed to perfection and Renaud vacillates over the final touch for an embarrassing amount of time, before he pins a single red rosebud to the black jacket he slips on.

 

It’s this that makes him late, the sun already falling beneath the horizon when there’s a knock on his door, Andreas smiling on the other side.

 

“Thought you might want to celebrate.” Normally, he wouldn’t mind, would look forward to a chance to get to know Andreas better, but tonight all he can do is look towards the window and wish the Norwegian somewhere else. “Meeting records aren’t as impressive as Teddy’s but we can still pretend.”

 

“I’m busy.” He sees the disappointment pass across Andreas’ face, rushing to explain, unable to explain to himself why it’s so important. “Maybe in Lausanne?”

 

“Where are you going?” Andreas so obviously eyes him up that Renaud feels himself turning as red as the rose. “You’re all dressed up, a date?”

 

“No.” Renaud checks the window again, cursing internally as the sun disappears. He knows Andreas won’t tease him, or at tease him too much, but Le Cirque des Rêves, his status as a rêveurs feels too private to share. “I’m going to the circus.”

 

“A circus?” Andreas looks incredulous and Renaud can’t really blame him for that, he knows it’s out of character. He’s not one to turn down a party, but he doesn’t get the opportunity often, can’t follow the circus everywhere it goes like some rêveurs. “You’re going to a circus instead of a party, dressed like that? You can tell me if you’ve got a date-”

 

“Not a circus, _the_ circus.” He doesn’t appreciate the tone or the insinuation that he’s lying, not when he’s laying out such an important part of his life, something he’s done rarely outside of anonymous online rêveur forums. Renaud doesn’t think before speaking again, which is good, because he doesn’t think he’d have the courage to say it if he did. “Come with me.”

 

-

 

It doesn’t go badly, but then again, it doesn’t go that well either. He has a good time with Andreas, he always has a good time with Andreas, but he can tell that Andreas doesn’t feel that same pull that he does whenever he enters the circus, doesn’t feel a part of the magic itself, just an observer. Renaud can barely restrain an eyeroll when he cracks a joke about the Ice Garden reminding him of home.

 

The Hall of Mirrors comes the closest to rousing the same feelings Renaud has for the circus, examining each mirror in turn, perplexed at some, laughing at others. He even tracks back to certain favourites, pulling on Renaud’s arm to show him what he saw, or what he thinks he saw. Andreas keeps a hold of his arm when they reach the room with the streetlamp, linking their fingers together as they walk in silence, the only sound their steps on the striped floor.

 

It’s not Renaud’s least favourite part of the night.

 

He curtails the planned tour slightly, the summer nights aren’t long and it’s nearly midnight by the time he takes Andreas to the Drinkery, buying him a shot of vodka in a glass so cold that it feels like it burns his fingertips and lips when they down them, an unspoken apology for keeping him away from the party he probably would have had a better time at.

 

Renaud takes him to the exit, feeling awkward when they pause by it, Andreas obviously ready to leave, while he looks longingly towards the collection of tents.

 

“I understand.” He looks back at Andreas, embarrassed to be caught drifting, but the smile on the Norwegian’s face is fond, without any traces of mockery. “I don’t _understand_ , maybe, but you do, it’s not just _a_ circus. I’ll see you in Lausanne?”

 

“Yes.” He’s grateful and a little giddy, so he takes a chance when the clock starts to strike midnight, stands on his toes and pulls Andreas’ face down towards his, pressing their lips together for one beat, then two. “Thank you.”

 

He runs back into the embrace of the circus before Andreas can react, without looking back.

 

-

 

He ends up in the fortune teller’s tent, close to daybreak, too late for a tarot reading, the cards put away, but he’s been to the circus often enough now that he has no illusions about the acts and what tricks they use to cover up whatever it is that they actually do.

 

The milky-eyed seer smiles at him, as if her gaze is drawn to him in spite of her blindness, gesturing to the chair in front of her.

 

“I remember you.” Her hair is white, but her face is ageless and Renaud has a flash of remembrance, a pretty brunette girl who peddled magic tricks amongst the food vendors, the first time he came to the circus. “The little boy who wanted to fly.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well…” She takes his hand, tracing the lines with a fingertip, still keeping her gaze trained on Renaud. “Looks like you got your wish.”

 

“Do I have anything else to look forward to?” His smile fades as thinks back to earlier in the night and he has to fight the urge to pull his hand away. “Any chance of me being punched in the face in the next few weeks?”

 

She laughs, closing his fist and gently letting his hand come down onto the table in front of them.

 

“Would you really want to know?”

 

Renaud leaves without replying, leaving a few notes on the table as payment.

 

-

 

He manages to avoid Andreas in Lausanne, but he lets his guard down in Paris, thinking that there’d be too much for him to do to have to avoid running into Andreas. Renaud is forced to rethink this plan when Andreas corners him at the hotel bar after the competition, not looking as self-assured as usual at least.

 

They sit in silence, until Renaud clinks his glass against Andreas’, forcing a smile onto his face. He doesn’t want to be awkward around the other man, the kiss seems like a stupid idea outside of the magic of the circus.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“About what?” Andreas isn’t really looking at him, playing with his watch, spinning his glass around on the table, but he’s sitting in a way where he not only blocks Renaud’s escape routes, but also blocks out the rest of the room and he has to remind himself that it’s not just the two of them in here. “The kiss or avoiding me afterwards?”

 

“Which one are you more angry about?” It sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth, as far as Renaud’s concerned. He can forget the kiss if necessary, relegate it as a part of his memories that only get perused late at night with his hand down his underwear. “Or both.”

 

“It’s rude to run away after kissing someone.” This is the Andreas that he knows, the joker, with that particular smile that makes his stomach do _things_ , that he has to fight not to react to when he’s in his Nike gear, because that would be the most fucking embarrassing moment in his life if he let it happen. “And you said we’d celebrate in Lausanne.”

 

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know how to react to this, it isn’t one of the scenarios he’d pictured, the best outcome he was looking forward to was Andreas still being his friend afterwards. Renaud’s glad that the fortune teller kept her counsel that night. “Dinner, you’ll be in London right?”

 

“How about tonight?” It’s an impossibility, Renaud knows it is, but when Andreas takes a hold of his wrist, thumb pushing against his pulse point, it feels like his heart stutters. He knows he stops breathing, at least. “We can get room service, get some food that would terrify our coaches.”

 

“I’ve already-”

 

“Dessert then.” Andreas’ grip tightens and he pulls Renaud forward, until he has feel his breath on his neck, against his ear. “In my room.”

 

He’s in a hotel bar, in Paris, but Renaud feels like he should be wearing black and white, with a flash of red.

 

“Yes.”


End file.
